


#mfw

by RenderedReversed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 4AM Crack, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gay, Gen, M/M, ah yes the writer and the artist, but i dont even know what i mean, i say that like you all know what i mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-11-16 01:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: Harry writes fanfiction. His long-distance friend, pseudonym Voldemort, makes art.Also, his brother is really cute and? That's kind of unfair?





	1. #mfw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strange_Soulmates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Soulmates/gifts).



“Why does someone always die?” asks Harry, resting his cheek on his fist. There’s a bowl of cold popcorn sitting by his elbow. It’s probably not a smart idea, but popcorn for dinner isn’t that smart in the first place, so he figures it’s fine.

Voldemort—who Harry can see in a small rectangular box in the corner of his screen—doesn’t bother looking up from his tablet. Mostly, Harry just sees the side of his head, which consists of a black beanie pulled down to his eyebrows, half of an earphone, an earlobe, and a white medical face mask.

“Talking to me or you,” Voldemort asks, with a tone that most other people would take as ‘I don’t care stop talking to me.’

Harry is not other people. Harry is Voldemort’s _best friend_ , thank you very much, so he says, “You. Do I really kill people off that often?”

“You’re no _George R. R. Martin_ , but yes. You do. You have the tendency to kill off your villains.”

Harry frowns. He thinks back to all the fics he wrote, the oneshots and drabbles and series and—“Holy shit,” he whispers. “You’re right.”

“Obviously,” says Voldemort. “I, on the other hand, differentiate between the topics of death and murder.”

He kind of wants to call bullshit on that. The last post Voldemort had made was of a sphinx with a sword skewered through her chest, blood dripping down from the wound and onto her paws. Her face had been frozen in an expression of abject horror, and Harry had instantly thought: _reincarnation au with a side dish of betrayal, wow that’s dark._

Also there was that one with the snakes and skulls, which could’ve been death in the abstract, but then down below there were people in dark cloaks dying in various horrific ways, so…

“Why does someone always die?” Harry repeats, like the only reason Voldemort didn’t give him a straight answer was because he misheard.

Voldemort sighs. He turns back to his other monitor, the one with the webcam on top. Harry drinks in the sight of his face—well, half of it; the mask goes all the way over his nose—like he’d been in an underground bunker for the last ten years and this is his first glimpse of the sun.

Harry tells him that. In not so many words. Actually, it sort of sounds like: “Wow, long time no see.”

In lieu of a reply, Voldemort sends him an image attachment in Skype. Harry immediately clicks download. If Voldemort wanted to infect his computer with a virus, he would’ve done that ages ago.

It’s a WIP of a woman with snakes in her hair, hand outstretched to the tall, dapperly dressed man in front of her. It would’ve been romantic had there not been a note scribbled in the margin: “Angry; probably stabby. Give her a knife.”

Harry squints.

Voldemort says, “It’s not about the dying. It’s about _how_ they die.”

That…that did not make any of this better.

“Okay,” Harry says. “ _Okay_. The next thing I write, no one dies. It’ll be a good fic. A happy fic. People will _smile_ —”

“Grimace.”

“—and laugh and be happy, including the villain, and everyone lives. I’ll even tag it like that. You can’t lie in the tags. That’s just not cool.”

Voldemort ‘hrm’s like he doesn’t believe him. He probably doesn’t. Sometimes, Harry wonders why they’re friends when there’s clearly no faith in this relationship—

“Keep them off the highway,” Voldemort offers.

Oh yeah, right. He _had_ killed someone off via car crash before, hadn’t he?

Harry beams. “Thanks!”

* * *

Voldemort doesn’t draw fanart. He does original work. It’s Harry who’s usually writing stuff about it, citing it as ‘inspiration’ or ‘loosely based off of’ or even ‘so beautiful I could cry,’ ‘but Voldemort probably wouldn’t like that,’ ‘so let’s write fic instead haha’.

…Maybe it’s not a surprise that someone always dies in his works, if Voldemort is always killing someone in his art.

Well. That aside. The sneak peek of his _best friend for life_ ’s newest piece comes as a surprise. Voldemort is a perfectionist. He doesn’t like letting people see things that he doesn’t consider complete. Harry, touched and still a little disturbed from the answer he’d gotten, thinks it would be cool to write something and release it at the same time Voldemort does.

He gets started. They’re on Skype call, but neither of them have said anything for the last thirty minutes. Harry has his thinking face on, serious business, not to be confused with his game face because he tends to rage and that is not a pretty picture.

 _“Hey, did you drink all the milk?_ ”

Um. No? Harry frowns. “Was that y—”

“A moment,” mutters Voldemort. He mutes his mic, just in time for an _illegally_ cute boy to step into view behind his chair. Harry doesn’t gape a little. He doesn’t.

They’re talking. Cute boy is holding up a milk carton—shaking it—turning it upside down—empty. He lifts an eyebrow. Voldemort says something back, takes the carton, and then picks up a bowl that had been previously out of view and—

Harry gasps. “No don’t!”

An inch away from pouring his cereal back into the carton, Voldemort turns back to his webcam and lifts an eyebrow. It looks exactly like it usually does, only this time, Harry connects it to the raised eyebrow of the cute boy standing behind him.

Holy shit.

“You have a brother?” he blurts out.

Voldemort gives him a flat look. Cute boy—possibly cute _best friend’s brother_ —snaps something and snatches the carton back. Harry thinks there might be a bit of yelling going on. Cute boy is about to leave, but then he takes a look at Voldemort’s monitor. The monitor Harry knows his face is nearly full screen on.

Harry does not panic. He does something worse.

He waves at him.

Cute boy looks the same way Voldemort does when Harry’s done something that surprised him. He says a few words—directed at Voldemort—spares one last glance at Harry, and then walks away.

Voldemort unmutes his mic, just so Harry can see him pull his face mask down and hear him slurp up the rest of his soggy cereal.

Gross. Also, relatable.

Harry grabs a handful of popcorn and stuffs it into his mouth.

“So,” he says, covering his mouth full of half-chewed popcorn, “Your brother.”

“Please tell me you aren’t gay for my brother.”

“Psh, of course not,” Harry lies. “He was just. Objectively attractive. I can acknowledge that, right?”

Voldemort gives him a look. He wipes his mouth with a tissue and then pulls his face mask back up. “Don’t bother. You’re out of his league.”

“…What?”

When Voldemort doesn’t say anything, Harry points to himself and says, “ _What_?” The difference is, of course, the addition of incredulous disbelief, because _have you seen Harry, he’s eating popcorn for dinner, there’s no way he’s in a league of anything unless it’s who can fit the most angst in 10,000 words._

Voldemort sighs. “My little brother,” he says begrudgingly, “is an asshole.”

“I wouldn’t know, you muted your mic.”

Well, to be fair, he looked like kind of an ass with the carton of milk, but then again Voldemort was the one who was about to pour his cereal back in to spite him, so.

“Take my word for it.”

Harry frowns. Voldemort goes back to his tablet. He should probably get back to his Word document, too, but…

“But is he single?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEED TO BE STOPPED HOLY SHIT
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> this is complete i swear.


	2. #iirc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just,” Harry hiccups, “I’m so gay for him? But also I’m bi?”
> 
> “Is he as hot as his brother?”
> 
> “I’m—” Harry pauses, placing one hand over his heart, “—I’m not even sure it matters?”
> 
> “Wow,” says Ron.
> 
> “Yeah,” says Harry. “Wow.”

“You know who else is out of my league,” says Harry, eating another spoonful of ice cream, “Voldemort.”

Ron chokes. “I thought we were talking about celebrities?”

That’s true. His last answer had been Johnny Depp. Harry supposes Voldemort’s a pretty far cry from that, but somewhere in his subconsciousness, they’re on the same level. It’s a sobering thought.

“He technically kind of is one,” says Harry. “He’s got like, fifty thousand followers on Twitter.”

“Mate—”

“And they only follow him for his art. He never posts anything else. No 140-character rants, memes, selfies—fifty thousand people like him for his art and only his art. They haven’t even seen his face. Ron, do you know what that _means_?”

Ron is looking at him a bit like he’s a wild beast. Maybe he is, but at least he’s a wild beast in love with _cherry vanilla ice cream_. Easiest domestication ever. It’d be even better if Voldemort would hand feed him—

“You just said that out loud,” Ron weakly points out. “This is the guy who always wears the face mask, right? Your long-distance internet friend?”

Harry visibly wilts. He tosses his spoon back inside the jar, and gets even more upset when he hears it hit the bottom. Would Voldemort still like him if he got fat off of ice cream? Would he even be able to tell? His webcam only catches like, from his ribs up. That’s not enough to tell if someone has a beer belly, right?

“He’s amazing,” Harry says. “That’s what it means. And don’t say it like that—you sound like your dad.”

Ron shudders, and rightfully so. Mr. Weasley around smartphones is a sight to behold. Harry sometimes wonders if he still uses his pager for work.

“Well,” Ron says, “If you like him, just tell him? You’re friends, aren’t you? You can…” He makes a hand motion.

Harry, too lazy and sad to look at him, lets his head loll against the back of the couch. “Hermione,” he says.

Ron considers that. “Touché.”

They both pause.

“But we’re together now, so—”

“You’re _also_ within walking distance of each other,” Harry says, “You _also_ go to the same school. You _also_ have been friends since you were ten. Hermione _also_ has had a crush on you since we were thirteen—”

Ron perks up. “Really?”

Harry lifts his head and looks at him dead in the eye. “She punched a guy for you, Ron. Hermione’s not the type of girl to go around left-hooking for just _anyone_.”

Pleased with hearing his _girlfriend_ has had a _crush_ on him since forever, Ron smiles a little to himself and takes a bite of his own cookie dough ice cream. Harry wilts again. Fine, he’ll let him have that. Happiness is a good look on Ron. Much better than seeing him dead on his feet, like he was when his father nearly lost his job.

Angry Ron was equally not good, like the time he caught Ginny and Dean lip-locking at the back of the school—

“I wish I was straight,” Harry says.

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry agrees. “But just imagine? I wouldn’t have boy problems. Boy problems wouldn’t even be part of my vocabulary. Voldemort’s stupidly hot brother would not be so stupidly hot, and Voldemort would not be out of my league because I wouldn’t even be batting for that team. There, done. Just like that.”

He raises a hand and tries to snap his fingers. They slide against each other and make a pathetic _thwap_. Taking pity on him, Ron snaps his fingers for him and ah, yes, there’s the satisfying click.

“Thanks,” he says, getting all warbled.

Ron pats him on the shoulder. “No problem, mate.”

“I just,” Harry hiccups, “I’m so gay for him? But also I’m bi?”

“Is he as hot as his brother?”

“I’m—” Harry pauses, placing one hand over his heart, “—I’m not even sure it matters?”

“Wow,” says Ron.

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Wow.”

They pause. Ron eats another spoonful of ice cream.

“But he is hot,” Harry says. “Like, really hot. Bone structure, A+, got the good end of those genes. 10/10, would unzip. Maybe he gets it from his dad. I wouldn’t know.”

Ron sighs. “Of course he is. If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Gee, thanks. Where’s your vote of confidence coming from?”

There’s a clacking sound as Ron sets down his pint on the table, and then Harry gets the distinct impression that he’s being stared at. Significantly. He lifts his head.

“Ginny,” is all Ron says.

Harry winces, head falling back. He does not like to be reminded of her childhood crush on him. “Touché.”

“Also, Cho wouldn’t have dated you if you weren’t, y’know—”

“Cedric broke up with her because he was moving away,” Harry says. “She dated me for a week. We kissed literally once, and it was while she was crying because she didn’t want Cedric to forget her. They started long-distance dating two days after we broke up. _I_ ,” he begins, pointing to himself, “was by all definitions, a rebound. Except it was more like a boomerang. Out, _a—nd_ back.”

Ron squints at him. He leans over and picks up Harry’s pint of ice cream, scratches around a bit with the spoon, and then says, “Want the rest?”

Harry holds his hand out. “Give it to me.”

Ron, good best friend that he is, does. “I’ll go get some drinks from the fridge, too, yeah? We’ll make a root beer float or something.” He does the awkward pat on the shoulder thing again. “Chin up, mate. You’re not out of his league. Probably.”

“Thanks,” Harry grumbles. “So what am I, then? Running parallel?”

But even _that_ is a little hard to imagine. Voldemort is so, so up there. Like, there’s the moon, there’s the sun, there’s the stars, and _way_ up there is Voldemort. And Harry’s down here. Earth. A little lower than earth, actually—like, below sea level. Under the ground. Buried, a bit. There. Yes, that’s him.

God. And sometimes he just wants to stare at him? And give him compliments? Because they’re true? Voldemort has two main reactions: tar-eating sarcasm, and pocket-knife cynicism. Harry is okay with that, but sometimes he wonders if he can pull out a third reaction. A unique reaction to—to—to, okay, this is going to be cheesy, but _to Harry_.

The crush is strong. The crush is going to _crush his ribs_ and then his lung’s going to get punctured and then he’ll be stuck in the hospital, unable to talk to his _best friend for life_ at all, and then Voldemort will forget about him and—

“You have Dr. Pepper and Sprite. Choose one.”

“Dr. Pepper,” Harry says instantly. Sprite is for weak, borderline healthy people who aren’t suffocating under the weight of their intense sexual attraction for their best friends. Dr. Pepper, meanwhile, is dark. Spicy. Erotic, but only in commercials because there’s nothing sexy about two teens cracking a can over their nearly finished pints of ice cream.

“To unrequited love,” Harry says, lifting his jar. Then he thinks better about it, because Ron and Hermione are happily _requited_ in love, and he isn’t about to break that up.

“To hot, single guys out of my league,” he says instead.

“Cheers,” says Ron, clinking their jars together. They both take a swig.

Harry sighs as he snuggles into the couch cushions. “You’re a good friend.”

“And don’t forget it, mate.”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii sooooooo
> 
> *points at Ellie* you know what you did


	3. #afaik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **gyoza said:**
> 
> I love how Voldemort has his own tag on Undesirable’s blog and no one questions it like this is TOTALLY NORMAL, just a thing that happens even though Voldemort isn’t even in the BWL fandom like how did they even meet???
> 
> Amazing.  
>   
>  **r e p l y**  
> 

…

Tags: original work, Voldemort, gift fic

**Comments on “taste the death on your tongue pt. 3/3”**

**ConfusedAnon** **_said:_**

Hey Undesirable_No_1! I just wanted to say that I really love your works, and you were the person who really got me into the Boy Who Lived fandom.

The _Phoenix_ series really hit me hard, especially _Ash to Cinder_ when I got to the string of character deaths (the comments warned me, and of course your tags, but I was still so unprepared. So, so unprepared). AND THEN SOMEHOW YOU GAVE US A HAPPY ENDING LIKE, holy shit man, bless.

I was so happy when I found your WordPress I basically just binged everything again, lol. Glad to discover your original works too! It’s like uncovering a treasure trove omg.

I see that you actively reply to comments here, so maybe this is the best place to ask… I’ve always wondered, what inspired your penname?

** r e p l y **

    

**WandWave** **_said:_**

    

First of all, not Undesirable_No_1 (obviously), but I can answer that question!

    

It all started in the good year of 20XX, aka when the community was still largely in LJ and our gods were J.K. Prowling, the mods, and the big names that graced us with high quality fanfiction and fanart—in that order for some of us, reversed for others. *coughs*

    

So Head Mod Whispers had just had a baby and wasn’t able to dedicate enough time to, you know, modding, which meant mod applications were open and there was some well-meaning chaos behind it, because there were also rumors that Whispers was leaving because of Mod Gretta, and people were taking sides, and that brought out the shitposters… you see my point.

    

Well, in a grand turn of events—which some of us to this day still think was caused by some asshole messing with the apps—we got Umbridge as the next mod. Or, as some people including myself like to call her, *Umbitch*.

    

She policed everything. Power tripped. Waved a banhammer around like it was Mjolner and she was Thor. This shit was crazy, no lie, we lost a couple good writers for it. And you know what she hated the most?

    

Crack fics.

    

And in the good year of 20XX, do you know what the most popular crack fic of the time was?

    

_Act II Scene 3_ , by you fucking know it, Undesirable_No_1. Or, at the time, he was known as Expect-the-Patronum. God knows why we loved that disaster of a fic, but we did. It was the fandom’s baby—given, it was probably dropped on its head from chapter 1 line 1, but still—and Umbitch decided to fuck with it.

    

Well, you don’t fuck with Expect-the-Patronum unless you want to get fucked with, too. If you remember chapter 69 of A2S3, when things get *wild*, you might remember a certain odd introduction of an OC (which Expect-the-Patronum did not normally do and still doesn’t do often now as Undesirable_No_1) that was basically the rest of the arc’s punching bag. Her name started with a U, she had a questionable obsession with cats, and she wore pink. All the time.

    

No shits given, he fucking inserted Umbitch into his crack fic and made her the villain. He got banned shortly after, but before that, Umbitch started calling him undesirable number one like this was primary school and name calling was something a mod with a modicum of respect for her position just did.

    

Well Expect-the-Patronum literally gave zero fucks and began to make a bunch of sockpuppets, all called Undesirable_No_1, and the kicker is they all had the same avatar: a pink sock puppet with a hideous wig and two giant googly eyes, very reminiscent of the description of his OC in chapter 69.

    

(It was a legit pic. That meant he *made it himself irl*. Expect-the-Patronum: fic writer, BWL fan, and sock darner extraordinare. Who’d’ve thunk it.)

    

The shitposters were more than pleased. And when the other mods turned a blind eye to it, *somehow* a pic of his avatar got passed around and half of the community all changed their icons to it in protest of Umbitch.

    

The dirty deets of this rebellion are all documented in his fanlore page, so I’ll spare you that bs, but it was glorious.

    

To make a long story short, after Umbitch was overthrown and Expect-the-Patronum was unbanned, he decided to roll with it and changed his pen name to Undesirable_No_1, and traded in his pink sockpuppet avatar for something a little more…him, though who knows since he’s never given us a picture.

    

(Since it *was* a gift from Voldemort though, it probably totally looks like him.)

    

Hope that answered your question!

    

**r e p l y **

    

    

**ConfusedAnon** **_said:_**

    

Thanks! That totally answers it! Omg, _that fanlore page tho_.

    

** r e p l y **

    

**starlight** **_said:_**

    

I always wondered…

    

**r e p l y **

    

**Felibelly _said:_**

    

This is very thorough. +1

    

**r e p l y **

    

**Undesirable_No_1** **_said:_**

    

Hey sorry I got to your comment a little late but WandWave’s reply pretty much got it.

    

Glad you found me :)

    

**r e p l y **

    

**ConfusedAnon** **_said:_**

    

!!! Holy UNDESIRABLE_NO_1 REPLIED TO MY COMMENT. I’M DEAD.

    

(I’m glad I found you, too!!!!)

    

**r e p l y**

    

**WandWave _said:_**

    

I got your back. *finger guns*

    

**r e p l y**

**gyoza _said_ :**

I love how Voldemort has his own tag on Undesirable’s blog and no one questions it like this is TOTALLY NORMAL, just a thing that happens even though Voldemort isn’t even in the BWL fandom like how did they even meet???

Amazing.

** r e p l y **

    

**doyoushipit _said:_**

    

just bros being bros

    

**r e p l y**

    

**girl-who-lived _said:_**

    

I would love to have Undesirable as my bro

    

#DesirableNo1

    

**r e p l y**

    

**Kismet _said:_**

    

You would have to fight Voldemort for him, though.

    

**r e p l y**

    

**girl-who-lived _said:_**

    

BRING IT ON.

    

(I’m just kidding please don’t hurt me)

    

**r e p l y**

 

 

* * *

Harry is having a very good time.

The sweater he’s wearing is the softest thing he’s ever owned, period. It feels like a cloud, smells like fresh linen, and the best part is, Harry is drowning in it. He made sure to order a size up so the sleeves could cover his hands, and it’s long enough that he feels comfortable just wearing boxer briefs underneath when he’s at home.

Best. Purchase. Ever.

He rubs his cheek against the fabric and inhales. _Heaven_.

“You bought the sweater.”

Harry looks up, smiling because it’s Voldemort and he’s feeling sort of dopey. “I understand now,” he says. Swears. Something like that. “I get you. Cashmere sweaters. So worth.”

He’s probably going to have to skip a few meals to make up the difference in his bank account, but again. So worth.

Voldemort looks pleased. Then, he tilts his head and makes a bit of a face. “It’s…a little big.”

“Oh,” says Harry, “Yeah. I ordered a size up. Medium. That’s your size, right?” Which surprised the hell out of him, actually. He knows that his friend’s tall (logically, because Voldemort had told him the numbers before), but apparently he’s super skinny too, and doesn’t have the broad shoulders or chest to fill in a large.

…It’s definitely something Harry’s thought about. If they ever met in real life, they could share _sweaters_. They could—they could _switch_. Harry wearing Voldemort’s, Voldemort’s wearing Harry’s—

He takes another deep breath. God, he loves doing laundry.

Voldemort is still staring at him. Harry squints. “You alright there?”

“…Fine.”

Harry blinks. “Well, _o_ kay. Hey, I torrented _The Last Unicorn_. Wanna watch?”

Voldemort gives him a deadpan look. “‘The Last Unicorn’?”

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Besides, it totally fits your aesthetic.” Harry fiddles with his sleeve. “I think you’d like it.”

 _The Last Unicorn_ is actually pretty creepy, when he thinks about it. But it’s hard to recall precisely; the last time he saw it, it was hiding behind a couch late one night when he’d heard Dudley sneaking downstairs to watch the tele. Why he has the urge to watch it now is a mystery.

It was a good movie though, and Harry wants to share it.

“Alright. Get on Rabbit.”

Harry grins. “Yes! Okay, okay, let me send you the room link. Oh! And get food. See you in five?”

“Five _seconds_.”

“Be there or be square!” Harry says. “Alright, I’m hanging up now. This is going to be so much fun!”

Voldemort snorts. Harry quits Skype to the sound of, ‘ _Can’t believe he’s making me watch a unicorn movie_.’

A week later, Voldemort’s feed is full of morbid unicorn art. Undesirable_No_1 is tagged in every single one of them.

 

 

* * *

   **Voldemort** @lord_voldemort

@undesirable_no_1

#art #watercolor #daily

[ _Image_ : A pearl white horn resting on a bed of tree roots. The base of it is jagged, like it's been severed from something. In the background is a unicorn corpse lying in a pool of dull rainbow blood.]

 **1.0k** Retweets **3.8k** Likes

 **Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1

Ha 

 

    

**Stockings Not Stalking** @sendsockpics

    

???!?? wHAT DOES THIS MEAN

 

    

**Undesirable’s #1 groupie** @girlwholived77

    

OMG @undesirable_no_1 marry me!! 

 

    

**Conspiracy? I think yes** @ETAliens

    

Hmm… Unicorn… Rainbow… LGBT flag… Voldemort/Undesirable confirmed. #theyredating

 

 **grin at wall** @itsdark

…guys what happened to @lord_voldemort and @undesirable_no_1? is this some inside joke we’re missing out on? this has been going on for 5 days? #soconfused #help 

 

    

**Brick** @die_in_agony

    

maybe it’s fanart for one of undesirable’s unreleased fic? BWL book 1 had a dead unicorn

 

    

**Erised what?** @not_eris

    

Waiting for @undesirable_no_1 to fic it like

    

spongebobwaiting.jpg

 

 **voldewhore** @steponme

YOU PAINTED THAT IN ONE DAY?? THAT’S A DAILY????? holy shit #goals #paintonme

 

 **saaya’s bread** @toastme

Guess we’re all bronies now, folks.

 

 **parapluie** @rainonmyparade

Please make this a print!!! I know you don’t usually sell your dailies but… #please #itssopretty #grabbyhands

 

 **Aly** @alympus

Zombie unicorn apocalypse inc? -prayer hands-

 

 **Lacie** @radioactivegoth

So afaik, it seems @undesirable_no_1 is the most desirable person on the internet, at least according to @lord_voldemort lol

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok it took me an embarrassingly long time to format this.......... _sweats_
> 
>  
> 
> This all started because I tapped Ellie (aka [strange_soulmates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Soulmates/pseuds/Strange_Soulmates)) on the shoulder and was like "hey......so if Harry's a fic writer.......what's his penname??" because I really just couldn't think of one, and since Ellie is a genius, y'know, I thought I'd get her input on it.
> 
> But put me and Ellie in a room and you get a big 'ol tomarry (in this case harrymort) brainstorming mess, so when she came up with "Undesirable_No_1" it naturally came with a backstory that was _too priceless_ not to stick in somehow!! And!!!! so you get this
> 
> (I'm sorry I still had to come up with his previous penname and I'm so mad that it just came to me while I was writing, like, WE COULD'VE AVOIDED THIS WHOLE THING BUT NO.)
> 
> ily ellie <3
> 
>  **Edit:** [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BziPBsJCa47WN1R2ci1tOWpNWGs/view) is a fantastic fanart of Voldemort's unicorn art by Lilybyte!


	4. #tetrisguy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1
> 
> Anyone wanna play tetris with me? #tetrisguy #ifyouseethis #dmme
> 
>  **56** Retweets **352** Likes
> 
> Or, the time when Harry almost meets Tom, except not quite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Ellie, or as you may know her, [strange_soulmates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Soulmates/pseuds/Strange_Soulmates). 
> 
> She's an awesome writer and just the sweetest person and it's her birthday today!!!!!! So go wish her a happy birthday on her [tumblr](strangesoulmates.tumblr.com)! <3

One thing that sort of blows now that he's an actual university student (as opposed to just attending his local community college) is that there's a whole bunch of stereotypes that people tend to make about going to uni, and Harry fulfills absolutely none of them.

He had _expectations_. Like for example, what do uni students do on the weekend? Drink. Party. Drink some more. And then, there's Harry.

Harry, who is spending his perfectly free Saturday night playing online Tetris.

Honestly, it's pretty addicting. He doesn't exactly remember what time he started, just knows that he's been through 5 different rooms, at least 30 different games, has been cursed out in multiple different languages, and went from Arena rank 1 to Arena rank 10 in one night. That's bronze to the top of silver. Not bad—not bad at all.

 _Fck u_ , says **beeoncrack** in a grand display of sportsmanship. Their icon is, most fittingly, the cute-looking bee. If there's one thing he's learned from tonight, it's that all bees are either silent and secretly platinum, or very vocal and trash tier.

 _:^)_ , types Harry.

 ** _beeoncrack_** _has left the room_.

Harry shrugs.

He's not actually much good at puzzle games—that's more Ron's thing, and Ron had, in fact, been the one to introduce him to this website—but his APM's pretty high, and his reaction speed's not too shabby either, if he and his history of video games are enough evidence. And Tetris being rather simple in the grand scheme of puzzle games…

Harry takes a swig of his Snapple. It's kiwi-strawberry-flavored, which is obviously the superior flavor of Snapple. Later, he'll wash out the bottles and re-fill them with milk tea.

Harry idly thinks he might get diabetes in the future.

Later, when he's on a consecutive win streak of 20, Harry's mindlessly clearing his rows when he realizes that this match has been going on for a while. His screen doesn't usually fill up to more than half, ever, and the speed doesn't usually get so fast either. He takes a glance to the side and sees all 4 other players are down for the count, but there's one still going.

The player's screen is less than a quarter full.

Harry sits up. He starts playing for real this time. The unclearable rows start dropping. He gets an ill-timed S-shape block, accidentally flips his T-block one iteration too far, clears a row only to get 5 more sent to him. His opponent must've been purposely waiting on clearing his own rows to send a stack that high.

 _This jerk_ —

Harry slams his palm down on the table. Welp. There goes his win streak.

 

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _gg_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _?_

 

Even their _name_ is aggravating. Harry twitches. They're gold. Win streak of 1—this must be their first game of the night. The little smug green cat icon in first place stares him down. Harry, who is in great contrast an adorable black-and-white cow, refuses to yield.

The timer until the next match ticks down.

 

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _rematch?_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Sure_

 

They play.

Harry loses.

"Okay," Harry says, "Okay. Bad start. Maybe next time—"

They play again. Harry gets an L-shaped block to begin with, which isn't bad, but then he gets a string of S and Z-blocks that completely throw off his vibe. By the time he's finished clearing his absurdly tall tower, two other players have dropped out. Someone sends a stack of three his way, and he manages to clear two with a conveniently timed I-block when eight giant stacks of unclearable rows pop onto his screen.

Second place.

He checks the post-match rankings. There, across from the smug green cat icon, is a whopping total of 20 lines sent. None of the other players have even have that much, save for him. There's no one else who could've sent him that gigantic stack, and Harry has a strong hunch that it was targeted.

 

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _rude_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _gg_

 

Oh, that asshole—

Harry rolls up his sleeves. Game-fucking-on.

 

 

* * *

Five games later, Harry wins. Once. He can't even feel happy about it—all he feels is relief. His fingers ache like he's been playing for hours, and given, he has been playing for hours, but now it's that times two. He can't believe this shit. Who is this guy? And how is he so good at Tetris?

Sometime between game two and four, the room has filled up with spectators. All 10 spots are taken, and the chat is blowing up. Harry rubs his eyes. He tries to read it but only catches "gg" and "wp". Well played indeed.

There's nothing from Tetris Guy, until...

 

 **_1stPlace_ ** _: Not bad_

 

Harry blinks.

 

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _you're not too bad yourself_

 

Nothing else comes through, and for a second, Harry thinks that's that, but then an orange notification pops up over his mail. It's a friend request.

Harry accepts it.

 _Play any other games?_ comes in a private message.

Oh. Harry's heart jumps a little. He hadn't expected that.

 

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _I kick ass at scrabble_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _What a coincidence, so do I._

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _wordfriends.gg/B623Yr ?_

 

It's an invite to a Scrabble room. Harry checks the time. On one hand, it's getting sort of late, but on the other hand, it's a Saturday. Also, Harry has a running track record of making bad decisions—exhibit A, playing online Tetris for four hours straight—and it'd be a shame to stop now.

He clicks the link.

They play Scrabble for the next two hours against a revolving door of other randoms. Tetris Guy is, apparently, not just good at Tetris—he's good at games in general. They race in 2048 until Harry realizes Tetris Guy's score is actually top 5 on the rankings, and then they go neck-and-neck in Snake.

 

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Do you play chess?_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _just because I play it doesn't mean I'm any good_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _I think I'll be the judge of that_

 

5 minutes and one very pathetic game of virtual chess later, Tetris Guy admits he's right.

 

  ** _1stPlace:_** _Alright you're pretty bad_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _thanks I try_

 **_1stPlace:_  ** _...really bad_

_**Undesirable_No_1:** (ノ＞▽＜。)ノ I warned you_

 

For a moment, Harry thinks that's the end of it. Tetris Guy is just looking for a challenge; clearly, because Harry isn't good enough, he'll make some excuse and they'll go their own ways. Harry should probably sleep. It's the smart thing to do.

But then Tetris Guy says,  _you ever play Pac-Man?_  , and Harry thinks,  _oh_. It's a warm  _oh_. 

 

 _**Undesirable_No_1:** _ _excuse me I had the highest score at my hometown's arcade_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _you bet your ass I played pac-man_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Let's see how good you are then._

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _80sarcade.gg/pacman/9GT46z _

 

 As it turns out, they're both really good at Pac-Man.

 

 

* * *

 _You play any instruments?,_ asks Tetris Guy, several rounds after.

 _No_ , Harry types back,  _but I do play Osu!_

 _Osu?_  , asks Tetris Guy. Harry flexes his fingers and begins typing his essay on the beauty of rhythm games.

They go back and forth like that for awhile, talking about games, accomplishments, failures, and life in general. Harry learns that Tetris Guy has graduated from university, only really plays retro games, and likes to read classical literature. He might be a crotchety old man, or a 40-year-old office worker who struggles with finding the pleasures in life so turns to pwning noobs over the internet. Harry's not sure.

 

**_Undesirable_No_1:_  ** _You've never played overwatch? wtf_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _are you an old man_

_**1stPlace:** Not everyone has the time for video games_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _you can't see me but I'm judging you so hard right now_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _did the past several hours just not exist for you??_

**_1stPlace:_ ** _I usually don't play for this long_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _o_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _...wanna play overwatch_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _you'd probably be hella good at it!! Look I'll even buy it for you_

**_1stPlace:_ ** _…Aren't you a poor college student?_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _yes and that includes making bad decisions_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Like buying $40 games for strangers._

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _exactly, now you're getting it_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _c'mon, I'll teach you!!!_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm getting off. Work tomorrow_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _...I hope you mean tomorrow-tomorrow or you live in a different timezone because it's 4:30AM here_

**_1stPlace:_ ** _PST?_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_  ** _......you mean tomorrow-tomorrow, right..._

**_1stPlace:_ ** _Work starts at 8AM_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _?????? dude??? why didn't you go to sleep earlier wth go sleep_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _It's fine, 4 hours is plenty_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _3 hours and 30 minutes!! and that's if you fall asleep in the next 10 seconds_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _I can hypnotize you if you want_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Over the internet?_

 ** _Undesirable_No_1:_** _Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me._

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there._

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _I actually liked Moby Dick_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_  ** _...I can't believe I spent 4 hours playing retro games with a guy who likes Moby Dick._

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _well if you're not going to sleep…_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _we could play overwatch (_ _✿´ 3_ _` )_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _Sleeping_

**_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _wise decision_

_**Undesirable_No_1:**  good night ( ･ω･)ﾉ_

**_1stPlace:_ ** _Good night_

 **_1stPlace:_ ** _gg wp_

 **_1stPlace_ ** _has logged off._

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _gg wp_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _PM me if you ever wanna play again!_

 **_Undesirable_No_1:_ ** _(´〜｀*) zzz_

 

 

* * *

As fate would have it, Harry hasn't seen Tetris Guy since then. It's a little disappointing—okay, a lot—because it'd been fun to have someone to play those games with other than Ron. Tetris Guy didn't seem too bad a person, either, once he got past the egotistical exterior.

Well…if he doesn't have Tetris Guy, then…

 

 **Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1

Anyone wanna play tetris with me? #tetrisguy #ifyouseethis #dmme

[ _Image:_ A cropped screenshot of a user box. The icon is of a comical cube-shaped cow, and beside it is a silver medal with Rank 12 next to it. Above the icon is a username in bold: **Undesirable_No_1**.]

 **56** Retweets **352** Likes

 **Voldemort** @lord_voldemort

You better not be the idiot who made a pact with the devil to bring back Tetris

 

    

**Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1

    

:3 :3 :3

 

    

    

**Voldemort** @lord_voldemort

    

No.

 

    

**Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1

    

:( :( :(

 

    

**Erised what?** @not_eris

    

#whenbaeshutsyoudown

 

**wanda** @teamjuandissimo

I'll play with you @undesirable_no_1

 

    

**Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1

    

You love me more than @lord_voldemort does

 

    

**wanda** @teamjuandissimo

    

Always.

 

    

**Broomstix** @likepixybutnot

    

dude is this tetrisfriends?? YO carry me @undesirable_no_1 

 

**grin-at-wall** @itsdark

okay but are we all going to ignore the tags? WHO'S TETRIS GUY? HOW DID THEY MEET? WHY IS IT SO IMPORTANT THAT HE DMS HIM?

 

    

**Buckbeak's Left Hoof** @hipporift

    

Undesirable wants to play Tetris with him, duh.

 

    

**safe sane and consensual** @justkiddinglol

    

But does he want to play tetris, or does he want to play… tetris?

 

    

**Undesirable_No_1** @undesirable_no_1

    

wink wonk

 

    

**safe sane and consensual** @justkiddinglol

    

oh my

 

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend got me addicted to tetrisfriends thANKS A LOT. it's really fun and you can spend mindless hours doing nothing. Also it's really hard too to get high rank zzz but maybe I just suck. So this ch is me taking out my unbridled salt on y'all, but also because I want to give tomarry some love even if it's only pre
> 
> MOSTLY THOUGH, I HAVE THIS OTHER PRIORITY ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE...
> 
> It's strange_soulmate's birthday today!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELLIE ILY!!!! <3 <3 <3 you october baby!!!!! I hope you have a wonderful week!!!!!!


	5. #bffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Happy Christmas,_
> 
> _Voldemort_

California doesn't snow.

At least, not in the Bay Area, and Harry is both thankful and a little disappointed to see the bare cement and (fake) snow littering the street-side shops instead. At least there's still Christmas music playing.

He looks up. The gaudy green, red, and gold garlands wrapped around the lamp poles are appropriately festive. All the tree trunks have some variance of Christmas lights wrapped like candy cane stripes around them, and underneath the one at the corner stands a man wearing a Santa hat, holding a _Donate to Charity!_ sign and a red bell.

Harry walks over, fishing out the loose change in his pocket before he drops it into the bucket.

The man smiles at him. "Thank you, Merry Christmas," he says.

"Merry Christmas," Harry says back. The traffic light turns red and he crosses the street.

He thinks about going back to the apartment, empty on Christmas Eve, with the dollar store plastic pine in the corner, decorated with little origami ornaments made of old worksheets and leftover wrapping paper. There are presents under the tree that won't be opened until after Christmas, when his friends come back from their visit to the Ancestral Weasley home.

Harry's own invitation to the Christmas party sits in the drawer of his study desk. This is the first time he hasn't been able to spend Christmas with the Weasleys in...well, years, and just thinking about them having fun without him hurts a little. But some things can't be helped. A late flight canceled, an even later replacement flight and...

Harry sighs and pulls his scarf up over his mouth, trying to keep some of his warmth to himself. He doesn't want to go home and do nothing, but that's exactly how it's looking like.

The roll of his suitcase behind him is slowly numbing his arm. His cheap acrylic gloves feel like ice cubes, and his nose stings a bit from the downtown draft. It's late, time to get somewhere warm and familiar, but the place he wants to go to is a long plane ride away.

He ducks into a Starbucks and buys a Gingerbread Latte to look a little less lonely. As if to mock him, even the usually long wait time is cut short, like everyone's too busy spending their time with family and friends to wait in line for an overpriced sugary drink. Harry sips at it a little and almost burns his tongue.

Well, at least his hand is warm.

It's like a mantra in his head along the walk back to the apartment. He switches hands halfway through, sacrificing his other arm to the bumpy rattle of the suitcase handle.

The people who are out and about on the streets travel in herds. They've _chosen_ to spend their Christmas Eve enjoying the city nightlife, and Harry keeps his eyes on the ground to avoid staring wistfully at them. It's not the bars, the drinks, the raucous partying he wants—it's—

A box is waiting for him at his doorstep, thoughtfully tucked off to the side by the delivery man to be out of sight from passersby. Harry nearly drops his drink trying to pick it up. He finally gives up and settles for opening the door first; then he can't get his things inside fast enough.

The box's label is handwritten. Black marker, unsmudged, laughably Sharpie for such lavish calligraphy. Harry traces his name, _Harry James Potter_ , and thinks maybe there is a god out there.

"That liar," Harry says, laughing a soft, breathy, _haa_. He thinks he might be half a step away from crying. "You said it'd be late."

He squeezes the package in his arms. The realization that he has to open it only comes a minute later, and then he's shucking off his shoes and running for the pair of scissors they keep in the kitchen.

The duct tape comes off...sort of, with a bit of sawing and cursing. He makes a mental note to buy another pair of scissors—a ballpoint pen is probably sharper than their current pair. At one point, Harry gives up entirely on cutting it and just rips the rest of the way, pulling the cardboard flaps apart. The packing peanuts explode in his face and scatter over the floor.

...Harry'll clean that up later. He swears.

Beneath the first layer of cushioning is an envelope addressed to him, in the same swooping cursive as the shipping label had been written in. Harry gingerly picks it up, almost like it'll turn into dust at the slightest touch, but it's solid beneath his fingertips.

He flips it over.

"Seriously?"

It's sealed, Harry muses in good humor, with a red wax seal. It makes him think back to his own poorly made card a little shame-faced, but there really is no matching how needlessly extravagant Voldemort can be—and this is just the envelope.

He peels it open as neatly as he can. Harry tries not to have too high of an expectation for the card itself, but come on. It's the first time he's seen a wax seal in his entire life, and this is just a Christmas present. One would think it'd better belong on a wedding invitation, and even then, it's a little too vintage to be commonplace.

...Harry suspects that Voldemort bought a wax kit purely for the Aesthetic™, and now he's just looking for things to use it on.

Hm. New white elephant gift idea: a wax stamp with a dick on it. Harry saves that one for later.

There's two things inside the envelope, but Harry takes out the card first. It's only polite, and besides, he's rather looking forward to what Voldemort has to say. He wouldn't be surprised if the only thing written inside is _Merry Christmas,_ considering how concise the sender usually is.

Harry is pleasantly surprised. For one, it's written with a fountain pen instead of a Sharpie.

 _Dear Undesirable,_ it reads,

_When you first suggested a gift exchange, I thought you were daft—but as it turns out, you do actually have good ideas once in a while. I was surprised how much I enjoyed making your present, and can only hope it does what any artist endeavors their work to do._

_I'll be immensely displeased if it isn't hanging on your wall by morning._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Voldemort_

The card ends there. Harry rereads it three times before he sets it down, heart in his throat and already feeling a bit overwhelmed.

It's just—there are so many other things this could have possibly been. Voldemort could've written a joke, or even _fuck you,_ and Harry would laugh and still treasure it and enjoy the present because it's from _Voldemort_ , of course he's going to like it, no matter what it is.

But out of all the possibilities, out of all the things he could've done, it's—this, and Harry doesn't really have any one word for what _this_ is, because it's a mix of things.

It's the way his hands aren't cold anymore; the way his nose stings, but not from the wind, from _inside;_ the way his cheeks feel hot and how he can't stop smiling. It's the heat in his chest, aching in the good way, and the plush feel of the carpet tufts between his curled toes. It's how soft he feels, how he can't stop rereading the darn thing, how he's already thinking of maybe framing it and putting it in the perfect spot on his desk.

He pulls out the other card from the envelope and decides that this one _definitely_ needs to be framed.

It's a sketch of him and Voldemort, shaded soft in color pencils, posing like they're taking a selfie. Of course, Voldemort's selfie pose is debatable—he's drawn himself as an unamused Grinch, wearing a Santa hat and an Ugly Christmas Sweater™, the sort that light up and get worn for maybe half an evening before being shoved to the bottom of a closet somewhere.

On the other hand, Harry—sketch-Harry, that is—has a big smile on his face, hand posed in a cheeky 'V' as one of the points of his reindeer antlers poke Voldemort's cheek. He's cozy in his festive red scarf and matching sweater.

For a moment, Harry wants so, so badly to make that scene come true. But the moment passes, and instead of searching up transportation costs to get him from NorCal to SoCal, he's fumbling with his phone to DM a long line of exclamation points to a certain friend. It's not important that Voldemort replies at that minute; Harry doesn't even know what he'd say if he called him then. It's just—he's so full of these warm and fuzzy feelings, he has to do _something_.

Finally, after admiring all of the finer details on the postcard, Harry sets it aside along with the card and turns to the bulk of the package. It's impossible not to have expectations now. He thinks the only thing that could catch him off guard is if Voldemort sends him an actual puppy for Christmas.

What he gets isn't a puppy, but it's on similar levels of ' _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'_.

Harry pulls the frame free, brushing off any particularly stubborn packing peanuts. He holds it up under the kitchen lights and laughs.

It's him again, except not _him-him_ but _Undesirable_ -him. The rendition of his avatar sock puppet is hilariously high definition, painted in the style of a dramatic Renaissance portrait. He looks unamused, just like any old white Italian man would, the faux lips of his puppet pursed in an adorable moue.

One of his googly eyes is bigger than the other. Harry squints, and—

"Oh," he says, laughing again, "It's a monocle!"

Harry looks around. He stacks a few college textbooks up on the kitchen table and props the portrait against them, sticks his head close, and poses for a selfie with the exact same expression as the sock puppet. It gets immediately sent to Voldemort, with a few _!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ preceding it.

He gets a reply a few minutes later.

No text, no emojis, just a picture—a selfie of Voldemort, lounging around on the corner seat of a sectional sofa, reading a book. He looks cozy in a cashmere sweater and soft jeans, but what really draws Harry's attention is what he's wearing.

He's got Harry's Christmas present on, a soft, green knitted scarf with a snake pattern. There's matching leg warmers, arm warmers, and a beanie to boot—Harry remembers writing _for your inner hipster :)_ on the card. He started making it in October, because he knew he wouldn't get anything done with finals, and this was one thing he didn't want to procrastinate on.

Harry sends an even longer line of exclamation points this time.

 _Hiss hiss_ , Voldemort sends back.

_U scalie!!_

_Thanks for supporting my lifestyle_

_!!!!_

_Jsyk my posh sock puppet is frowning at u rn_

_It feels ok right???_

_Ik you said your skin was sensitive so I tried to find the softest yarn I could_

_Very soft_

_Perfect_

_Nice!_

_…Wait a second_

_It's Christmas Eve!!! You opened your present early!!!_

_So did you_

_Tsk tsk_

_Setting a poor example_

_You said it was coming late! So I had to make sure_

_One thing led to another_

_You gotta wrap your present if you don't want me to open it on accident_

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_UPS pulled through_

_Weren't you supposed to be at a party?_

_………._

_Uh_

_Funny story about that_

_Are you busy rn?_

_…No_

_Wanna Netflix xmas movies?!_

_Ah, I have a holiday stream to do in an hour_

_Oh_

Harry droops. He'd forgotten about that, actually, having never been around to tune in live.

 _Want to mod?_ Voldemort asks a moment later.

Harry brightens. _!!! Yes!_ , he sends back, along with no less than a dozen santa emojis and a line of confetti.

It's a good day. When Ron texts him asking how he's doing, Harry sends back a picture of his family size potato chip bag and mug of hot chocolate, shamelessly overflowing with mini marshmallows. The edge of his monitor is visible, clearly a twitch browser in theater mode. Ron sends back a thumbs up emoji, and Harry replies with a smiley face.

 _Merry Christmas!_ he gets as midnight strikes, in a number of chat groups and text messages. He idly sends his replies back, but the most important one is Voldemort, saying it to a live audience of several thousand viewers, but personally meant for him.

The subscriber-only sock puppet emote blows up in twitch chat. Harry grins.

 _Happy Christmas_ , he types back, and sends a flushed smiling face in a private DM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up late with a Starbucks and a pair of obnoxious shades*
> 
> Christmas is a month-long holiday
> 
> (Who do _you_ ship now? bwahahahaha)


End file.
